My Father's Son

By Stephen W. Trout

A secret from Christians past haunts him following the murder of one
friend, the suicide of another, and his wifes fatal car accident. Christian
searches for a connection between his secret and these recent deaths.
At the core of My Fathers Son is the dysfunctional relationship between
Christian and his father. This father-son dynamic is a central theme as the
relationships between the four main characters and their fathers unfold.
Discovering Christians secret is only the beginning; each succeeding chapter
brings a new revelation. In the end, this is a story of the redemptive
power of friendship, family, and love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456878689

Stephen W. Trout

Married for thirty years to Janna and the father of two amazing young ladies, Emily and Elyse, Steve recently moved to North Carolina from the northeast. Formerly a partner in a Pittsburgh law firm, he was a civil litigator specializing in professional malpractice. During his tenure with the firm, Steve had an undefeated record of jury trial defense verdicts as lead counsel. In 1995, disillusioned with the practice of law, Steve purchased a national franchise, which he operated successfully until the business was sold in 2009. His legal background and small business ownership help to define his worldview.

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MY FATHER’S SON

Stephen W. Trout

Copyright © 2011 by Stephen W. Trout

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011903320

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4568-7867-2

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4568-7866-5

ISBN: Ebook 978-1-4568-7868-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This work is fiction. Any similarity between a particular character in the book and

any individual now living or dead is purely a coincidence. The characters in the book

are not based upon real people. There are both historical references and references to

places and events throughout the text; however, since this is a work of fiction, no real

effort has been made to accurately represent the places and events. Any relationship

between those events and places and the characters in the book is completely

fictional.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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DEDICATION

My Father’s Son examines the intense and quite diverse relationships existing between four teenage boys and their fathers. The father-son dynamic is necessarily one which all males can appreciate. Like many fathers, it was my father’s desire to give his children a better, more productive, and happier life than he had experienced. When I reflect upon my childhood, I recall countless joys and certainly some disappointments. Parenting isn’t an exact science. You learn as you go. But with a strong dose of love and patience, some fathers get it right. I believe mine did. My father’s nurturing, love and guidance was truly an incredible gift. I do know that I always felt special, loved and safe as a child. When I lost my father in 1989 (he was only 63) I lost someone I had grown incredibly close to over the years. My father had become a friend and a confidant; someone who did not judge, whose love was given freely and without reservation, and a person I truly enjoyed spending time with. My Father’s Son is dedicated to the memory of my father, Tony.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Chapter One      The Eulogy

Chapter Two      Legacy Of Demons

Chapter Three      Innocent Sinners

Chapter Four      The Burial

Chapter Five      The Morning Star

Chapter Six      Four Crown Princes Of Hell

Chapter Seven      A Time To Plant

Chapter Eight      The Serpent

Chapter Nine      Lamentations

Chapter Ten      Revelations

Chapter Eleven      Redemption

Chapter Twelve      Providence

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As an aspiring writer in college, I seized upon an opportunity to write for the university newspaper. Assigned to cover what was believed to be a routine student government meeting in the fall of 1977, I had the good fortune to meet my wife. Her assertiveness in offering her name and phone number to the reporter in the event I had any questions led to a lifelong journey with my best friend. The relationship that semester between the college newspaper and the student government association was tumultuous at best, quite unlike our lives together.

During our thirty year marriage, she has certainly been more than my best friend; my lover, partner, and biggest fan, to name a few. It was her belief in me, however, each time I doubted myself, that I am most grateful for. She has supported me over the years in connection with all of my life-altering decisions, not the least of which was the decision to abandon a comfortable income, and my law practice, in search of my dream to operate my own business. Thirteen years later, she likewise supported me in my decision to sell that business and again look for something meaningful to do with my life. It goes without saying that knowing I had her support was material to these decisions. The thing that surprised me the most, however, was her unwavering faith in me, and my ability, to actually write a novel and have it published. That is what motivated me and fueled my desire to go back day after day to my computer and weave this tale of four teenage boys and the secret they hid for twenty-six years. The four months I spent writing and editing this book gave me the greatest career satisfaction of my life. And for that, I will be forever grateful. Once I actually completed the manuscript, the challenge became something far greater than merely checking an item off my bucket list. For the first time I began to believe that perhaps someone else would find enjoyment in reading something I had written. With love and gratitude to Janna; I owe you everything.

I would also like to acknowledge the fine folks at Xlibris who worked with me to transform my typewritten manuscript into a book. Always professional and supportive, I recommend you to any aspiring author.

To the unnamed persons who visited Concrete City and posted photographs and details on the Internet for me to discover, I thank you as well.

Concrete City is a real place in Luzerne County, Pennsylvania. I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge Wikipedia’s article concerning Concrete City as well as the web links therein to The Concrete City and Concrete City - Before and After. Likewise, Concrete City - Forgotten Pennsylvania (forgottenpa.blogspot.com), Concrete City (floor9.com) and Concrete City (explorepahistory.com) were all excellent resources both in terms of providing an historical perspective and photographs.

The mining accident referenced in Chapter Two, although bearing a fictitious name, is loosely based upon real events (the Knox Mine Disaster). I would like to again acknowledge Wikipedia (see external links contained therein) for the factual background concerning the accident. In addition, I reviewed news articles and viewed videos of actual survivors to gain an understanding of the events. Again, the events in the book are fictionalized, as is Christian’s grandfather.

"You don’t have to deserve your mother’s love.

You have to deserve your father’s." Robert Frost.

CHAPTER ONE

THE EULOGY

Christian was sitting in the first pew on the left side of the church. The pews were wooden and highly varnished, not the least bit comfortable. Christian was confident the seating was designed that way on purpose; sinners were not supposed to feel at ease in church. If he sat back far enough to support his lower back, then his shoulders were thrust forward and his upper back was not supported. Any attempt to make his upper back comfortable resulted in his hips sliding forward on the slick, shiny surface of the pew. Consequently, he sat there in an endless loop repeatedly pushing back and then sliding forward. Fortunately, he was on the end next to the aisle so he had some means of bracing himself. Christian’s left arm was tight around his youngest son’s shoulder, his left hand gripping Luke’s huge bicep. His typewritten notes for his wife’s eulogy were under his right thigh at the end of the pew. Each time he moved back and then slid forward, he was acutely aware that all of the papers were precariously close to falling on the hardwood floor.

There was a lectern on both the right and left sides of the church in front of a very simple altar, which had been adorned with red, pink, and white roses. The minister was standing at the lectern on the right reading scripture. At the end of the center aisle and below the altar, Abby lay motionless in the steel gray casket. The interior of the casket was pink and white with lots and lots of soft, silky fabric. More flowers flanked the casket on either end. Christian thought the body in the casket looked like a wax replica of his wife. He had to look away. He thought to himself, Why did I agree to keep the casket open during the service?

Looking up, he noticed how simple and delicate the chandelier was over the altar, and his eyes drifted beyond the chandelier to the immense metal cross hanging in the front of the church. Seeing the cross, his body tensed, and he momentarily closed his eyes. Silently speaking to God, he said, You’ve known the truth all along, why didn’t you punish me back then? Why did you let me be happy? How could you allow this to happen to Abby? With tears filling his eyes, he abruptly opened them and looked to the left, out the window.

This was the same church he and Abby had been married in twenty years before. Unlike most of the churches in the small northeastern Pennsylvania town of Nanticoke, First Church of Christ was not a Catholic Church. The church had been there as long as he could remember; however, he had not attended church there as a child, nor had Abby. Christian had wanted to get married at the University Chapel, in part because it was nondenominational and he had been raised Catholic, but also because more of their friends were likely to attend if it was closer to State College. Abby insisted the ceremony should be close to home, so she scouted the small towns around Nanticoke until she found the perfect setting for their nuptials.

A one-lane, paved road led up to the church from the main highway. About five hundred yards from the church, on the left side of the road, there was a red barn that had been abandoned years before, though the paint looked remarkably bright and fresh. Just past the barn, there was a one-lane bridge over a stream. The concrete on either side of the bridge looked as if it might fall into the water with the slightest provocation. Once over the bridge, the road steadily inclined until arriving at the entrance to the church. It was a breathtaking setting. The church was rectangular shaped, very traditional looking. It was white with gray shutters and the entrance was a heavy wooden double door painted gray to match the shutters. There were no stained glass windows, but three windows above the door in the front and five windows on either side of the church let in ample light. A single white steeple adorned the top of the church. Behind the church for as far as one could see, there were pine trees and evergreens climbing the side of a mountain. When approaching the church from the main highway, it appeared that the church was actually nestled in the dense greenery of the mountain rather than sitting just in front of it. There was a parking lot to the right of the church, but today, cars overflowed the lot and were parked on top of the grass to the left and also lined the one-lane road.

Christian was wearing a black three-piece suit with a white shirt and a red-and-gold paisley tie. He thought the tie inappropriate—not subdued enough for his wife’s funeral—but their daughter Jenny had selected it for him. And she placed a matching handkerchief in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. The minister finished reading and the organist had begun to play. This was it, time to get up—he was next. Christian gave Luke’s bicep a quick squeeze and then pulled his arm from behind Lucas. He leaned to his left across Lucas while putting his left hand on Luke’s thigh, in part to steady himself, but also in an effort to continue comforting his youngest son; then reaching across Jenny, who was seated in the middle, he grasped Ephraim’s left hand with his own right hand. Ephraim, their firstborn, had his right arm around his sister; and with his outstretched right hand, he replaced Christian’s grip on Luke, squeezing the top of Luke’s left shoulder to comfort his younger brother. Luke looked like he might burst into tears at any moment. Jenny had already been crying. Christian leaned in farther and kissed Jenny on the lips, and in that instant, they were all connected to him and to one another. After briefly making eye contact with each one of them, he said, I love you guys so much. You know you mean everything to me, he hesitated and added, you were her whole world. With that, Christian pulled away from his huddled family, but not before tightly squeezing Luke’s right thigh, meeting Jenny’s eyes one more time, and holding tightly to Ephraim’s hand as he stood. He grabbed the papers in the pew next to him, and taking longer than normal strides, he confidently walked forward and stepped up to the lectern several feet in front of where he had been seated.

Christian Myers was barely forty years old—Abby would have celebrated her fortieth birthday in another eight weeks. Christian stood at the front of the church about to deliver the eulogy, waiting for the musical interlude to end. He looked down at Ephraim, Jenny, and Lucas sitting in the front pew and drew strength from his children as he tried to steady himself.

Looking at Ephraim, he saw himself at age twenty, only, Ephraim was definitely more handsome than he. Abby was five and a half months pregnant when she and Christian got married. They had talked about getting married before she got pregnant, but they were both still in college at the time. They had just finished their sophomore year. Telling her parents was far easier than making the announcement to Christian’s parents. They blamed Abby for ruining their son’s life, which was completely absurd since Abby had far more to lose and had made greater sacrifices by keeping the baby. They even questioned whether Christian was the child’s father. In the end, Christian and Abby made it work, although Abby never finished college. They lived with Abby’s parents until right before Jenny was born. Abby had worked so Christian could finish school, and her mom took care of the kids. Christian’s parents had paid for his tuition at Penn State, but once he and Abby were married, Christian’s only recourse was student loans. He left Penn State after his sophomore year and transferred to the University of Scranton where he doubled up on classes and went to summer school, enabling him to graduate a semester early.

At just over six feet, Ephraim had filled out nicely. He had a very well-toned body, though he wasn’t extremely muscular like Lucas. Ephraim had Christian’s dark brown eyes and dark hair—not black, but really dark brown. Of course, Ephraim’s hair was appropriately stylish: closely cropped on the sides with short sideburns and the top was a carefully tousled look with random spikes of hair here and there. His eyebrows were always neatly trimmed; Christian hoped he didn’t have them waxed, but perhaps he did. Looking at him, Christian thought Ephraim had the most perfect features—his nose was large, but narrow and well suited for his face, and he had a small mouth with the slightest hint of lips, a rugged-looking jawline and a strong, slightly protruding chin. Ephraim loved to sport a one- to two-day-old growth of beard and moustache. The facial hair didn’t bother Christian, but Abby hated it; she thought it looked dirty. Christian had asked him to shave today for his mom’s funeral. He didn’t even hesitate, he just said, Sure, Dad, no problem.

Christian had always been proud of Ephraim, and Jenny and Lucas as well, but Ephraim made him especially proud today as he reflected on what had transpired the past few days. With his clean-shaven face, Christian noticed an innocence and vulnerability about Ephraim that he hadn’t seen in a long time. Christian realized that Ephraim still needed his dad, especially now. And there was no doubt Christian needed Ephraim. He had been so wonderful since the accident. Despite dealing with his own grief and emotions, he had been particularly nurturing with his younger brother and sister . . . and Christian. The night of Abby’s accident, they had all been in shock and no one slept. But the next night, even after several drinks, Christian couldn’t fall asleep. He was numb, and moreover, he was troubled by the uncanny coincidence of certain recent events. He felt incredible guilt about Abby’s death and feared what might happen next.

Christian was lying in bed quietly sobbing when Ephraim came into his room to check on him. Without saying a word, Ephraim pulled back the covers and crawled into bed next to his dad and held him as Christian’s chest heaved up and down. Christian refused to make eye contact with Ephraim—somehow it didn’t seem as weird that way—he just buried his face in Ephraim’s chest and wept. Ephraim must have stayed there until Christian fell asleep, running his fingers through his dad’s hair and gently patting his shoulders and back, not ever saying a word. At some point, Christian realized Ephraim too was crying, ever so softly. He felt his son’s tears falling from Ephraim’s cheek onto the top of his own head. Christian felt horrible about it; his son was hurting deeply as well, probably overcome by his father’s expression of grief, and Christian couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye and try to comfort him—it was too awkward. Christian just resolved to go with it; it was exactly what Christian needed at that moment, and he was so proud that they had raised a son who was both sensitive and unafraid to show it. Ephraim was going to be an amazing dad himself one day. His bonding with Ephraim that night and Ephraim’s tenderness had evoked for Christian some raw and painful memories of his childhood relationship with his own father. Christian glanced at his parents, Rebecca and Sam Myers, seated two rows behind the kids. They had moved to Florida two years ago, and Christian had not seen them since they left Pennsylvania.

Christian loved his children so much, but he knew it didn’t compare to the love their mother had for them. They would be as lost as he without her. There was his precious Jenny sitting in between her brothers—it broke his heart—she was sitting there with tears running down her face. She looked nothing like Abby, he thought as he glanced toward the open casket just to the left of where he was standing. Even though there was no physical resemblance, Jenny reminded him so much of Abby. She had the same extraordinary confidence that Abby exuded but was still terribly vulnerable and so exquisitely feminine. Jenny and Ephraim were born in the same year—about eleven months apart. When Abby found out she was pregnant with Jenny, Abby’s dad told them that if they didn’t have any more sense than that, he wasn’t about to help them anymore and they had to move out. Christian graduated from college days before Jenny was born and had been lucky to get a decent job immediately. They moved to a tiny, two-bedroom apartment, but they could not have been happier with their little family.

Although Jenny was nearly as old as Ephraim, she wasn’t quite as mature as he. As the oldest, Ephraim had assumed more responsibility in the family over the years. Jenny was their free spirit and definitely the creative one. She had thick auburn hair, which hung all the way down to the middle of her back. Christian didn’t know exactly how to describe it, but her hair had natural buoyancy to it, and it seemed to flow with occasional twists and turns down her shoulders, onto her back and onto her breasts in the front. She was very fair skinned, but she looked especially pale today sitting in the pew. The only color in her face was the pink of her lips. She had the most striking blue eyes that were both alluring and calming simultaneously, but they were obscured by tears at the moment. Jenny had a high forehead, which sometimes made her look more serious than she was, and high cheekbones, which only accentuated her beauty.

Christian hated to admit noticing, but Jenny had developed into quite the young woman. She had full breasts—Definitely did not get those from Abby, he thought—the tiniest little waist and the perfect curve to her hips. When Christian would see her in a bikini, he sometimes felt embarrassed because he didn’t look away. He would remind himself that it was okay to look at her and appreciate her well-developed body—he helped create her, right?—and anyway, he examined his boys’ physiques with the same critical eye and never gave it a second thought. There was nothing sexual about it. And she was anything but modest, always walking around the house in various stages of undress. That wasn’t her fault though, it was the way he and Abby had raised the kids. They didn’t want them to be ashamed of their bodies or be overly modest.

He looked from Jenny to his boy Lucas—the product of one of the most passionate weekends he and Abby had ever shared. Luke was a constant and very pleasant reminder of that weekend, and when Christian’s consciousness was flooded with those memories of he and Abby in the Poconos he felt . . . well, aroused. After Ephraim and Jenny were born, he and Abby had decided that their family was complete; however, they had always been a bit careless with birth control, perhaps his father-in-law was right.

Just before Jenny’s first birthday, Christian and Abby were able to get away for the weekend, alone. The kids stayed with her parents. The Poconos were in fact everything they were promised to be—a heart-shaped hot tub in the room, mirrors everywhere, including the ceiling, and an assortment of rich, velvety fabrics on the furniture. They made love in every inch of that hotel room all weekend long—the hot tub was especially fun, but having the mirror over the bed was pretty cool too, Christian recalled. Anyway, birth control hadn’t been a priority that weekend for Christian. Sure, he had used a condom when he remembered too, but hell, they must have done it a dozen times over the course of the three days. Nine months later, they were blessed with little Samuel Lucas. And a week after Lucas was born, Christian stepped up and made sure there would be no more babies.

But today, all he felt was pride at the strong, handsome young man Luke had become. Christian alternately called him Lucas and Luke—his little boy was Lucas and his son, the young man, was Luke. He had just turned seventeen. Luke had been named after Christian’s father, Sam, but they never used his first name. Christian could not look at Lucas and call him Sam; it would have been unbearable for Christian. Naming him Samuel Lucas was Christian’s idea, however; another vain attempt to please his father and try to win his affections.

Luke was not as tall as Ephraim, probably only about 5'10", but he was solid. Although Ephraim was well built, his chest and upper arms did not compare with Luke’s. Luke was always at the gym working out. His blond hair was trimmed close—not bald, but very short. He had a round, full face which was completely hairless. Even if he’d wanted to grow a beard, it wasn’t in the cards for him. Christian guessed that all of the testosterone in his younger son’s body had been sucked up in the development of his upper body, biceps, his very muscular backside, and thick thighs. Like his sister, Luke had inherited Abby’s gorgeous blue eyes.

Although Ephraim and Lucas looked nothing alike, they couldn’t have been closer. Ephraim always allowed Lucas to tag along, even after they got older. Despite having very different body types, they had both excelled at football. Ephraim had played tight end and Luke was a linebacker. Luke would be entering his senior year of high school in the fall. Football practice started in a few weeks. Christian wondered whether Luke’s dream of playing college football at a Big Ten school would be realized; he was certainly talented enough. Abby’s untimely death was going to have a negative impact on their lives in so many ways Christian hadn’t yet considered. Ephraim and Jenny would both be returning to college at the end of the summer. It would just be Christian and Lucas at home. God he loved that boy—the way Christian always longed to be loved by his own father. Thank God he had Lucas for at least one more year, he thought to himself. Christian simply could not bear the thought of being all alone in the house without Abby.

Sitting there in the pew beside his sister and brother, Lucas reminded Christian of the little boy he would scoop up in his arms and toss into the air, making him giggle uncontrollably. Any time Lucas had a frown on his face, all Christian had to do was touch his belly and give it a little tickle and the world was right again for Lucas. It pained Christian terribly that he could no longer do that for his kids.

Lucas was the least emotionally mature of his three kids, but it wasn’t Luke’s fault entirely. Christian and Abby didn’t want to let go of their little boy. They had reluctantly given in and let the other two grow up, but Lucas was going to be their little boy forever. And it wasn’t just Christian and Abby, Jenny doted on Lucas like he was the resident prince. Ephraim too went a bit overboard in his attentiveness to and protectiveness of Lucas. Christian was able to recall more than one occasion when Ephraim had stepped up and accepted the blame for something Lucas had done, despite the knowledge that he would most certainly be punished.

Christian was thinking that his kids had kept him young, but the reality was that he had aged during the twenty years he and Abby were married. The extra pounds he had picked up after turning thirty, though, had melted away in the last few weeks. He had felt increasing guilt and stress about what he had done that night so many years ago and especially about who knew the truth and whether the recent events were all just a coincidence, retribution from God, or payback from someone who had discovered their secret. At six foot, one hundred and eighty-five pounds, he was lean, and although not as muscular as he was in high school, pretty darn fit and good looking. He still had to make an effort to hold his gut in when he had his shirt off, but in a three-piece suit, he looked as slender and fit as Ephraim. Abby always thought him to be attractive, but of course she would. There was very little gray in his wavy dark brown hair, which was cut short and combed straight back. He liked it a little longer in the back, turned up just a bit over his collar. He had toyed with a moustache and beard as a younger man, but now the absence of facial hair made him look even younger. He shared Ephraim’s features: dark brown eyes, large nose, cut jaw, and slightly protruding chin. He pulled a pair of dark-colored glasses from the pocket inside his jacket and put them on—perhaps he looked foolish, but they were not going to see his puffy red eyes. He was going to get through this eulogy without completely breaking down. He owed her that much. A few tears he could deal with, but he wanted to hide behind the dark glasses. He was standing in front of the church, in front of their children, their families, their friends; he chose to deliver his wife’s eulogy simply because he knew no one else could do it justice.

The circumstances surrounding Abby’s death gnawed at his gut as he stood there preparing to deliver the eulogy. He knew he was not being paranoid, and he damn well knew Abby’s death was not the accident it appeared to be. As Christian gathered his thoughts, the horror of what the four of them had done that night twenty-six years ago came rushing back. Goddammit, he thought to himself, he was a good kid, a good student, an athlete—how had he gotten caught up in that nightmare? It had all started so innocently. The guilt was unbearable and now if Abby had died because of what happened that night in Concrete City, he couldn’t live with that. And what about his kids? How was he going to protect them?

At that moment, he noticed Billy Warren entering the church with his kids, Sarah and Jake. It was typical of his friend to be late. Nonetheless, just seeing Billy gave Christian the strength he needed to go on; he knew they would get through this together just as they had twenty-six years ago. Billy had been a good friend these last twenty-six years—they had maintained their friendship, more out of necessity than anything else, he guessed. Each had served as best man for the other at their weddings. Christian still looked up to his childhood friend and following Billy’s wife’s fatal car accident three weeks ago, the two of them had been inseparable.

Christian wanted to be there for Billy and his kids. Christian thought of Sarah and Jake as family. Billy and his wife, Lily, had been married longer than he and Abby, but their twins were the same age as Luke. Lily had difficulty conceiving when they were first married. Billy had a congenital obstruction, which occurred within both of his testicles. Surgery to remove the blockage on one side was successful, and Lily eventually conceived the twins.

Sarah and Jake’s pain and grief was still so raw. It must be awful for them to be here today and relive their own mother’s recent funeral, Christian imagined. The idea that Lily had actually been murdered had not crossed Christian’s mind until Abby’s car accident.

Jimmy Burnham had committed suicide four weeks before Lily died. Christian assumed that Jimmy had never gotten past what happened that night twenty-six years ago. The guilt must have consumed him. He was in and out of so many bad relationships. He never married, but he did father a child. Christian surveyed the crowd wondering whether Jimmy’s daughter, Beth, was out there. Jimmy was back at home living with his dad when he died. They had all been there for Jimmy’s funeral, except for Nick of course. Nick Giordano had also been with Christian, Billy, and Jimmy that night twenty-six years ago in Concrete City.

Nick went to prison in 2003 and died there three months ago. He had been murdered by another inmate. Christian had learned of his death about the same time Jimmy died. Nick’s parents had moved from the area and there was no notice in the paper, but another classmate who kept up with Nick’s older brother, and attended Jimmy’s viewing, had told Billy that Nick had gotten into a fight in prison and died from the beating he sustained. In the early years, Christian assumed that Nick had no remorse for what they’d done. He certainly never showed it. Then Nick started drinking heavily. He’d lost more jobs than Christian could remember, and he was unbearable to be around. It all came to a head one spring afternoon—he was wasted and ended up killing a family of six while he was driving on the interstate. It had been his third drunk-driving conviction in as many years; he didn’t even have a license. Christian, Billy, and Jimmy tried to be supportive during the trial. God knows Nick didn’t receive any sympathy from anyone else. That was the last time they had seen him.

For the most part, Christian and Billy’s lives the past twenty-six years had been remarkably charmed—until now. They had managed to keep their horrible secret all these years. Somehow the secret was easy to keep. First, amazingly, they had gotten away with it without any suspicion directed at any of them. Christian’s parents never found out that he had lied about where he was that night. Nick did get knocked around pretty severely when he got home the next day—his old man had been up half the night looking for him—but Nick never revealed where they had been or what had happened. And throughout the years, they had each other to confide in and talk to about that night. It was like they had their own private therapy group; Christian believed it was the only thing that had kept him sane all these years. In retrospect, he was grateful for all three of the guys and the solidarity of the group. They had each kept their word and never confided in another living soul. That’s what they had each other for. They pretty much rationalized away what had happened. And as the years went by, it was as though they were recounting some urban legend which had occurred, or perhaps not, to someone else. Christian had always wanted to tell Abby about it; they kept no secrets from one another. Now it was too late for that. But it had never been the right time. And what if